Something in the Way She Moves
by SwissMiss1
Summary: Sirius remembers Marlene. One-shot. Gen-ish.


_Written for: The As Summer Ends challenge on the LiveJournal community, first_order._

_Prompts: Benjy Fenwick; I think about revenge_

**Something in the Way She Moves**

"Oy, Fenwick, budge over, old man." Sirius flings himself down onto the bench. He's sweaty from dancing, and Benjy can smell him. It's a strong, sour smell, mixed with a heavy (probably very expensive) cologne. Benjy accomodatingly slides over a few centimeters.

"Wouldn't think Jones had it in her to dance like that from looking at her, would you?" Sirius doesn't really sound like he expects an answer. Anyway, he isn't looking at Benjy as he speaks, but at Hestia and Fabian. Benjy would have agreed, though. She seems so small and intellectual whenever he sees her at a meeting, her cheeks flushed over some new idea, her hands fluttering around, explaining. But here, her voice rendered impotent by the music and the throbbing beat, her body has taken over, and even though she's shorter than most of the other dancers by a good head or more, she seems bigger, demands your attention.

"Marlene was a great dancer, too." Again, Benjy doesn't feel addressed, but then Sirius picks up the drink in front of him and turns to Benjy and says, "Ay?" He looks like he wants Benjy to agree with him. He also looks like he's pretty drunk.

"I don't really remember," Benjy mumbles, because he does remember, and Marlene was nothing compared to Hestia, not on the dance floor.

"Oh yah... she was a great dancer," Sirius insists, and his eyes are hazy. He watches Hestia again, but Benjy can tell that he isn't really focused on her, and he imagines that Sirius is remembering Marlene's moves.

Marlene had long, blond hair that she liked to swing around. She was also slightly cross-eyed, but she liked to have fun, and she and Sirius got along splendidly. She had never paid much attention to Benjy.

Now Gideon is pushing his way to the edge of the crowd and pops out in front of their table. Sirius raises one arm in greeting and Gid straddles a chair. "What are we going to do about it, Prewett?" Sirius asks, handing him an open bottle.

"What's that?" Gideon's face is shiny with sweat and several curls of his ginger hair are plastered to his forehead.

"I said, 'What are we going to do about it'? Marlene. We can't let them get away with it." Now Sirius is starting to sound aggressive, and Benjy is glad that Gid is there to absorb it.

Gideon shrugs. "Let 'em have it, I say. Take no prisoners."

Sirius grins. "Dumbledore won't like that."

Gideon smiles back around the mouth of the bottle. "Dumbledore doesn't have to know."

Sirius nudges Benjy. "I like how he thinks. Are you with us, Fenwick?"

Benjy thinks later that he should have just said 'Yes', but right then, he's under the impression that Sirius means to go out tracking down Death Eaters directly from the club, and so he grips his glass and says, "I can't—I mean, Gid's right, we're only supposed to ... you know, in self-defense, and I don't think—"

"They killed her, Fenwick!" Sirius is angry now, and Benjy wishes for a panicky second that he could Apparate out without standing up.

"I know," Benjy stutters out miserably, and Gideon jumps to his defense.

"Aw, leave him be, Black, he didn't know her like you did."

"Doesn't matter how well he knew her. She was one of us. If it'd been him, you think we'd just sit around moping: 'Oh, poor Benjy, well, that's the way the Snitch flies, can't be bothered.' No! We'd be out there, tracking the bastards down!"

"We are tracking them, Black! And when we do, they'll get theirs," Gideon assures him.

"That's all I mean," Sirius says, somewhat mollified.

Gideon gives Benjy a look that says he should say something, too.

"That's ... You know, that's what I meant, too."

Gideon nods at Sirius, and Sirius grumps at his drink.

"Boy, that—that Jones sure is a good dancer, isn't she?" Benjy ventures after a moment.

Sirius doesn't even look up. "Doesn't hold a candle to Marlene."


End file.
